


Treasure that I have gained (or: actually functional communication, and a gold medal)

by ineptshieldmaid



Series: Rain Down On Me [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: BDSM, M/M, fetishisation of medals, i have a thing for viktor's thing for kneeling, inappropriate wagers, mixing competition and life partnering is a dangerous cocktail, viktor on his knees fixes most things though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-07 04:48:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10352544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineptshieldmaid/pseuds/ineptshieldmaid
Summary: ‘Yakov,’ Yakov says, ‘does not want to know if anyone is betting on their own performance. That would be very unprofessional.’Viktor smiles at him, sunnily. ‘Then we’re definitely not doing that,’ he says. And then, when Yakov has banished both of them in the direction of the changing rooms, he leans close enough to say, in Yuri’s ear, ‘He didn’t say I couldn’t bet onyourlutz.’‘What, so if I outdo you, you win, and if you outdo me, I win?’ Yuri asks.‘Something like that, yeah,’ Viktor says, and wraps one arm around Yuri’s waist.---Or: the mostly-porn coda to Set My Mind At Ease





	

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, I accidentally committed a smut coda? IDEK. This one hasn't been SPaG checked, so no one blame my betas for my errors.
> 
> In keeping with the rest of the series, a-title is lyrics (this time from Crowded House's Private Universe) and b-title is bluntly descriptive.

It doesn’t happen until the NHK. Yuri thinks, when the final scores come up and he feels Viktor’s whole body go rigid next to him, that of course it _would_ be the NHK. Yuri has never actually been someone who thrives on the home crowd advantage. He’d been the last to skate, because his short program _had_ been outstanding. Viktor had been right before him, and had bolted out of the kiss-and-cry to be at the edge of the rink during Yuri’s routine. And now here they are. 

There are cameras on them, and Viktor is still frozen. Yuri makes a split second decision: he grabs Viktor and kisses him. It’s not, by any standards, the best kiss he’s ever given or received. Viktor doesn’t exactly kiss back, but he does clutch at Yuri’s arms and dig his fingers too tightly into them. 

Yuri places one hand on Viktor’s cheek, deliberately on the side the cameras are on. It’s not exactly a shield but it’s enough to block view of their lips as he hisses, ‘I love you, it’s okay. Now stand up.’

It ends up being Yuri who raises Viktor’s hand to the crowd - raises their joined hands, really. Viktor manages to get it together for the medal ceremony: on the podium and in the victory lap he’s every inch the gracious champion. He even refrains from sweeping Yuri off his feet as they exist the rink, because they have had Words about what is acceptable routine displays of affection and what is only for Special Occasions. Earlier, when the scores went up, was Special Occasions; this isn’t.

Yakov hugs Viktor, and, somewhat to Yuri’s surprise, hugs him too. 

‘Well done,’ Yakov tells Yuri, and Yuri knows perfectly well he’s not talking about the silver medal. Nor is he congratulating Yuri on gracefully taking second place to his fiancé. The real achievement here is handling Viktor, and both Yakov and Yuri know it.

Sometimes, Yuri has fantasies of hiring a new coach and having a (relatively) normal career. He and Viktor have actually come to an arrangement with Nakako-san, Minami’s coach - Yuri spent two weeks with her working on the draft choreography for this seasons’ free skate, while Viktor was with Yakov. Another two with her and Minami, in September. He and Viktor both know those were the easiest weeks they’ve spent, professionally, since last year’s GPF, even if they did miss each other terribly.

‘Congratulations to you,’ Yuri says, smiling at Yakov. Viktor’s wins are always, in part, Yakov’s work, after all. 

‘Hrrmph,’ Yakov says. ‘Someone needs to work on his landings, that lutz was not as clean as it could be.’

‘Already noted that, old man,’ Viktor says.

Yuri’s own quad lutz is still shaky. Shaky enough that he could be excused for excising it from his Free Skate, if he so chose. He elbows Viktor, instead. 

‘Want to wager on it?’

‘On what?’ Viktor gives him an odd look.

‘Element score, quad lutz, yours against mine.’

Yakov raises one eyebrow, but says nothing.

‘For the final? What stakes?’ Viktor asks.

Yuri smirks. ‘I don’t think Yakov wants to know.’

‘Yakov,’ Yakov says, ‘does not want to know if anyone is betting on their own performance. That would be very unprofessional.’ 

Viktor smiles at him, sunnily. ‘Then we’re definitely not doing that,’ he says. And then, when Yakov has banished both of them in the direction of the changing rooms, he leans close enough to say, in Yuri’s ear, ‘He didn’t say I couldn’t bet on _your_ lutz.’

‘What, so if I outdo you, you win, and if you outdo me, I win?’ Yuri asks.

‘Something like that, yeah,’ Viktor says, and wraps one arm around Yuri’s waist.

‘And the stakes?’

‘Winner’s choice.’

Yuri’s family meet them outside when they’ve changed: his mother hugs first him, then Viktor, and his father shakes both of their hands. Minako’s trademark lack of tact means they get past the ‘so how does it feel to come out on top of our Yuri’ question pretty much immediately. Probably Yuri’s parents did pick up on the innuendo in Viktor’s response, but they pretend they missed it, and Yuri is deeply grateful.

* * *

Maybe it helps that Yuri has his gold from Skate America to his name, as well as a silver from the Four Continents and bronze from Worlds last year. Skate America had been… interesting. Yuri contended that a mere qualifying Grand Prix gold didn’t count, in terms of their deal; Viktor had conceded that Yuri was in charge of what counted for the purposes of setting wedding dates, but had begged to be allowed to kiss the medal anyway.

Yuri had let him. Only when Yuri was holding the medal in his hands; he’d insisted that he needed a more prestigious gold to warrant Viktor kissing it around his neck (or, for that matter, any other part of him).

It’s things like this that make the impossible tangle of coaching, love, and competition work, Yuri thinks. Obviously some people manage competing and being lovers at the same time: Yuri actually thinks that can’t be much different to competing against your friends. But this high-stakes game between him and Viktor... He doesn’t think he could do it, could really make Viktor kneel to kiss his medal if it weren’t that Viktor has put so much time and devotion into Yuri’s work, as his coach. It’s not just that he enjoys Viktor on his knees (although he does). It’s that that this is one way Viktor will permit Yuri to actively share Yuri’s own success with him.

But this time, it’s Viktor’s success they have to deal with. Celebrate, certainly, but Yuri doesn’t fool himself this isn’t about _dealing with_ , unless it’s about establishing precedent. The Final is less than two weeks away.

Viktor simply looks at him, when they get back to their room. He knows what Yuri’s said about this eventuality as well as Yuri does. Viktor wins gold over Yuri, Yuri gets Viktor on his knees wearing nothing _but_ that gold. That’s the deal. 

‘Come here, first,’ Yuri says, and takes Viktor’s hand, pulling him closer. ‘Kiss me?’ He makes it, very deliberately, a question and not an order.

‘Gladly,’ Viktor says, and he wraps Yuri up in his arms and kisses him properly. Yuri lets himself melt: he _likes_ bossing Viktor around, he really does, but he treasures these little moments when Viktor seems to envelop him. It’s both like and and very unlike the ideas he’d once had about being kissed by Viktor Nikiforov, World Champion. On the one hand, there are definitely times when Yuri feels like if he doesn’t cling to Viktor he’ll fall down, or evaporate into a particularly lustful mist. But on the other, he hadn’t quite anticipated how _safe_ he’d feel, with Viktor wrapped around him. He couldn’t drown in Viktor: Viktor holds him and holds space for him.

Eventually, Yuri wraps his hand in the ribbon of Viktor’s medal - which he is still wearing, because Yuri had prevented him from stuffing it into a pocket earlier. Viktor’s breath catches and he pulls back from Yuri a bit. It’s a little hard to read him: they haven’t been in exactly this situation, before. Yuri thinks what he sees in Viktor’s wide eyes and the sharp intake of his breath is a mixture of excitement and unease, which is really fair enough.

‘Okay?’ he asks, and tugs on the ribbon gently. Viktor nods. Yuri waits, and Viktor registers that he’s waiting for a proper answer.

‘Okay,’ Viktor says, and Yuri kisses the corner of his mouth. 

Yuri had had the idea in his head of telling Viktor to strip, of sitting back and watching until he has Viktor naked wearing nothing but the heavy symbol of all the reasons he used to be out of Yuri’s league, and then ordering him to kneel. That suddenly doesn’t feel right.

‘Let me undress you,’ Yuri says, instead, and Viktor quivers slightly.

‘Don’t worry,’ Yuri tells him, ‘you’re going to end up on your knees one way or the other. Let me undress you first. Please?’

‘Of course.’ 

Yuri peels the team jacket off Viktor’s shoulders, and kisses his neck. Shoes next: he doesn’t kneel, because he’s figured out that that, more often than not, makes Viktor skittish and unlikely to comply. Instead he sits on the bed and has Viktor balance each foot on Yuri’s knee while Yuri gets the laces undone and the shoe and sock off.

Yuri stands back up to ease Viktor out of his t-shirt and pants. He doesn’t talk to him much through it, but drops kisses on Viktor’s skin as it becomes available. Yuri spends a lot of time touching Viktor, in general, but it’s rare that Viktor lets him do this kind of caretaking, unless it’s _after_ they’ve fucked. And there’s a fine line Yuri has to walk right now. This _is_ about Viktor’s skating, about the fact that he’s won (his first gold since taking half a season off: it matters), about the fact that they got to stand on the same podium. It’s about how much Yuri loves him, in _every_ capacity: but Viktor doesn’t like to hear about his own skating during sex.

Yuri snaps the elastic of Viktor’s underwear and grins when Viktor twitches with surprise. Yuri steps back and leaves him standing at the foot of the bed.

‘Get those off and kneel down for me,’ Yuri says.

Viktor complies, and looks up at him. He’s stark naked, except for the medal, and Yuri has to take a moment to engrave that mental image into his memory under ‘life-changing moments, keep forever’.

‘Will you -’ Viktor snaps his mouth shut on the question.

‘What is it, love?’ Viktor hesitates, again, until Yuri tells him, ‘Ask.’

‘Are you going to undress, too?’

‘I am,’ Yuri says. ‘Do you want to help?’

Viktor nods.

‘Start with the slippers, then,’ Yuri says, and puts one foot on Viktor’s bare thigh. Unlike Viktor, he’d stopped to exchange trainers for the hotel slippers at the door of their room. They kick off very easily, but that doesn’t stop Viktor carefully lifting Yuri’s feet out of them one by one. Yuri sheds his own team jacket and t-shirt ( _his_ medal is stuffed in the jacket pocket, and can stay there), letting Viktor just kneel there looking up at him for long moments. He requests Viktor’s help with his sweats, and then invites him to peel Yuri’s briefs off in turn.

Then, still figuring out exactly what they’re doing, Yuri sits on the end of the bed, and pulls Viktor forward into the gap between his legs. He pulls him forward by the ribbon of his medal.

There’s an obvious line, hanging unsaid in the air between them. Something that would really draw attention to the fact this is a _gold medallist_ , a five-time world champion, on his knees, ready to suck Yuri’s dick. And it might just work: Yuri thinks he could probably pitch it just right. Look at you, Viktor Nikiforov, everyone else gets to see you on the podium, but only I get to see you like this. Don’t forget, Viktor: it doesn’t matter what you win, you still end up on your knees for me. He knows Viktor well enough by now to know that’s what he needs, sometimes: someone to undercut the significance of all his successes and his reputation, and offer something to ground him without them.

It doesn’t always have to be explicit, though.

‘What a nice necklace you’ve got,’ Yuri says, and Vikor’s eyes go wide. Yuri tightens his grip on the ribbon again ‘It suits you. You should definitely keep that on when you fuck me.’

‘Fuck you?’ Viktor echoes.

‘Oh yes. I’ve had a long day,’ Yuri says, rolling his shoulders. ‘And I think what I really need now is someone to fuck me until I can’t think straight.’ He may regret this tomorrow, when it comes to the exhibition skates, but whatever: he can cope.

‘I can do that,’ Viktor says, voice cracking.

Yuri reaches out to touch his face. ‘It’s good to know I can rely on you at times like this,’ he says, and enjoys the sight of Viktor flushing. ‘Now. You be patient while I get ready.’

This, too, is something they don’t do often: why would Yuri do the prep work himself when Viktor is so very competent at it? He does, sometimes, insist that Viktor finger himself while Yuri watches: he likes that, not just because he likes watching Viktor touch himself (although he does). Once he’d figured out that Viktor never fingered himself for fun, and didn’t even own any toys to do it for him, Yuri had realised it was a great deal of fun, and enormously hot, to sit back and talk Viktor through all the things he could have been doing to himself but wasn’t. A couple of times, he’s refused to fuck or blow Viktor, or let Viktor fuck or blow him, in favour of Viktor fingering himself while Yuri jerks off. He drags it out for days at a time, until some arbitrary win condition is satisfied and Yuri condescends to fuck Viktor into the mattress.

Today, though, he gets his fingers slick and works himself open. Yuri can actually do this in an efficient and businesslike fashion in a minute or so, and in some ways that would be preferable: more so than any other act, spreading his legs and fingering himself for show makes him feel foolish as well as exposed. But he shoves that feeling aside, tonight, and drags the process out, because the whole point of this exercise is making Viktor wait.

‘Enjoying the view?’ he asks Viktor, at two fingers.

‘Yes,’ Viktor says. ‘You’re beautiful, Yuri, so beautiful.’ Unlike Viktor, there’s almost no wrong way to compliment Yuri in bed, so when Yuri murmurs encouragement, Viktor goes on. He praises Yuri’s legs and his hands and a whole series of other body parts, apparently in random order. He tells Yuri how much he’s enjoying watching this, how much he wants to touch him; and how much he’d enjoyed watching him on the ice today, how much he’d wanted to touch him then, too.

‘How about you come up here and fuck me, then?’ Yuri asks, eventually, and Viktor gets up from his knees with alacrity.

‘How do you want me?’ Viktor asks, and Yuri scrambles back on the bed, bending one knee upwards in blatant invitation.

‘Like this,’ he confirms, when Viktor crawls up the bed and hooks his arm into the crook of Yuri’s knee. Yuri wraps the other leg around Viktor’s waist. With one hand, Yuri picks up the medal from Viktor’s chest. ‘I’m going to hold onto this nice necklace of yours,’ he says, and grins when that elicits a funny choked-off noise from Viktor. ‘I’m going to hang onto it,’ and here he tugs a little, ‘while you fuck me.’

‘No argument here,’ Viktor says, and slides one hand under Yuri’s hip. ‘This will be easier if we have a pillow, though,’ he says, and Yuri reaches out with his free hand for one from the head of the bed. The rearranging takes a few moments, and then Yuri pulls Viktor down (one hand on his neck, the other fisted in the ribbon) and kisses him. 

‘Come on and fuck me, then,’ Yuri says, and Viktor does. He’s gentle - he almost always is - but not slow this time, and Yuri has no complaints. He wasn’t actually making up his claim earlier about wanting to be fucked until he can’t think straight. ‘More,’ he insists, urging Viktor closer with the leg wrapped around him. ‘More, Viktor, fuck me properly.’

It’s good; it’s very, very good. Yuri arches his back as Viktor fucks him, cant his hips upward into it, and tries to keep a stream of commentary. He likes talking to Viktor while they fuck: Viktor thrives on feedback, and Yuri… Yuri likes knowing that Viktor is listening, that there is literally nothing Yuri could say right now that Viktor wouldn’t want to hear. (Barring, of course, the previously-established caveat about not commenting on Viktor’s skating.)

There comes a point when Yuri loses track of what he’s saying, or quite how to articulate what he needs. ‘Harder,’ and ‘yes, higher, like that’ become moans and wriggles and Yuri’s hands grasping for Viktor’s ass, or his shoulders, or his hair. This is where Viktor really comes into his own, where doing what Yuri asks of him turns into realising what Yuri needs when Yuri only knows he needs _something_. Viktor bends Yuri’s other knee back, curling Yuri’s body up so that Viktor’s dick slides inside him at _just_ the right angle, and Yuri has stifle a shout.

‘I’ll never get tired of this,’ Yuri manages to gasp out. ‘You’re going to have to fuck me forever, Viktor Nikiforov.’

Viktor makes a punched-out noise like he’s been winded, and falls apart. Yuri pulls him in by the medal as he comes: Viktor’s grip on Yuri’s knees slips and he more or less collapses into Yuri’s chest. Yuri has every intention of letting him recover properly, but it takes only a few seconds before Viktor is kissing Yuri’s collarbones, and then his chest.

‘Can I suck you now, Yuri, please?’ Viktor asks, into Yuri’s skin, and doesn’t really wait for an answer before sliding further down Yuri’s body. That means Yuri loses the pleasure of Viktor’s dick in him, and he whines a little from the loss.

‘Fingers?’ Viktor asks, cupping Yuri’s balls for a moment before letting his touch drift further back, over Yuri’s perineum. 

‘Please.’ 

Viktor slides two into him straight away, and a third on Yuri’s urging, and then devotes himself to sucking Yuri’s dick like it might be his last chance. Yuri touches his hair, tugs on it a bit to make him shudder, and comes almost instantly when Viktor curls three fingers upward at the same time as he takes Yuri almost right down to the root.

‘You’re so good at that,’ Yuri says, once Viktor has made a half-hearted attempt to clean them both up, and then flopped into Yuri’s arms again. 

‘My greatest talent,’ Viktor says, nuzzling into the side of Yuri’s neck.

‘Mmm.’ Yuri pretends to think about that for a moment. ‘Hard to say. You have so many talents. There’s sucking cock; there’s fucking me like there’s no tomorrow; there’s foot massages…’ He pauses, and taps his temple in an exaggerated thinking-gesture. ‘Not to mention interacting with restaurant staff; getting upgrades on room and flight bookings; oh, and charming small children and old ladies.’ Viktor huffs a laugh at that one, and Yuri wraps both arms around him. ‘Also,’ Yuri says, ‘you’re pretty good at skating and I’m proud of you.’

Viktor doesn’t really answer that, but pushes his face further into the crook of Yuri’s neck and trembles a little. Yuri strokes his hair and takes that as his cue to shut up.

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, folks, I have tagged things that seem obvious to me, but I cannot guarantee that I have predicted every possible squick or trigger. If you aren't willing to take that risk, don't read in the first place.
> 
> And also as usual, I adore comments but I do not adore being shouted at if your headcanon clashes with my characterisation choices. Nor do I adore comments that are being snide about the sexual choices of fictional characters.


End file.
